


Open Position

by thingswithwings



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dancing, Festivals, Gen, In Public, M/M, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-03
Updated: 2007-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:10:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After four years in Pegasus, the Lanteans finally get invited to the Interplanetary Trade Coalition holiday party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Position

After four years in Pegasus, the Lanteans finally get invited to the Interplanetary Trade Coalition holiday party.

"Score," Ronon says, taking a bite out of his bird-thing drumstick. "I've never been."

Teyla smiles, pleased with herself; she's the one who managed to earn an invitation from the ITC PR people. "I have gone on numerous occasions; it is always a lot of fun."

"So, what, food, music, that sort of thing?" Rodney asks, his eyes on his plate.

"That is the general idea, yes," Teyla agrees. "Music, food, dancing, games, illicit sexual liasons."

John grins. "Ah, the classics."

-

The party really is everything it's cracked up to be. The timing is set to coincide roughly with three planets' harvest festivals, two planets' spring plantings, four solstices and five assorted holy days, so the spirit of festival is not only present, but varied. As SGA-1 walks into the city, there are people singing, dancing, making food, eating food, people in elaborate makeup and costumes, people dressed in leather and glistening with oil (John will have to remember the name of that planet) – people doing almost everything good that humans do, dressed in dozens of fashions, colours, habits. There's even something that looks like a kissing booth from a county fair, which John hopes that McKay doesn't notice.

"Hey, is that a kissing booth?" McKay asks, already chewing on a kebab that he apparently picked up when John wasn't paying attention.

"Where'd you get the kebab?" John asks, but before McKay can answer, the main ITC PR guy is stepping up to a mike and welcoming everyone.

-

The day-part of the party really is like a county fair: food, performers, games to play, that kind of thing. John tries to pay attention to the endless barrage of people Teyla introduces him to, but keeps being distracted by the combat-rings (Ronon's decided to go a few rounds with a giant gap-toothed dude from Minaria) and the bird-thing kebabs (say what you like about Rodney: he always finds the best food). John gets the feeling that there are some important trade wheelings and dealings going on here, but tries to leave most of that to Teyla, who seems to be securing Atlantis's supply of food, textiles, and new technologies in between bites of the giant mushroom-cheese thing she's eating.

As the day segues into night, though, the party takes a pretty sharp turn: fewer games and magic shows, more fireworks, more alcohol, more music, and of course more food.

Then, between one sweet-ale and the next, John finds himself being dragged away from the fireworks display: Ronon's hand is wrapped around his forearm, warm and solid, pulling him toward a pavilion set up with hanging lanterns and standing torches. Off to his side, he sees Teyla doing the same to Rodney, dragging him behind her, Rodney's hand still clutching a half-eaten piece of honey-candy.

When they get up to the pavilion, there are people dancing: dozens of people, hundreds even, all following three or four leaders in something that could almost be the electric slide, if it weren't for the leapfrogging.

There's a woman with a microphone standing on a little dais off to one side where the band is, and she spots them as they approach the edge of the dancing area.

"Ah, and I see that our friends from Atlantis have arrived! Welcome the first-timers, everyone!"

The crowd breaks into laughter and riotous applause, all turning to look at them expectantly.

"Uh, Teyla," Rodney singsongs, half under his breath, "Why is everyone looking at us?"

Teyla laughs. "My apologies, Rodney; it's the party custom. First-timers must perform a dance showcasing their local culture."

John feels all the blood drain from his face.

McKay's ahead of him, though, thank god. "What about Ronon?" Rodney hisses. "It's his first time, too!"

Ronon shrugs. "I can do the Baumanka," he says, glancing at Teyla. "Wanna?"

Teyla mock-bows. "Ronon, I would be glad to dance the Baumanka with you."

And just like that, they're off, into the middle of the brightly-lit pavilion, into some sort of couples-dance that's half tango and half swing-dancing. The other dancers join in, following their movements, clearly trying to pick up the steps as they go. It looks like a lot of fun, if you're into ritual embarrassment.

When they start doing throws – and hey, who knew that Teyla's back bent that way? – John considers grabbing Rodney's wrist and just running off into the night, to freedom, trade agreements be damned.

"Wow, who knew that Teyla's back bent that way?" Rodney said, obviously having missed the idea that he was next in the back-bending competition.

Just then, Ronon and Teyla whirl by, passing close to the crowd as they do something ridiculous and impossibly athletic.

"Remember, it's your turn next," Teyla says, clearly, as they pass.

"I am going to kill that woman," Rodney says. Good; at least they're back on the same page.

"Uh, listen, we'd better just make something up," John suggests, finally.

"Make something _up_? Like what?" Rodney demands incredulously.

"Like, I don't know, something everyone can follow easily, like a big group dance or something."

Rodney lifts his chin, clearly coming to some sort of decision. That's usually a bad sign. "Listen, Sheppard, I know it may not count for much to you, but we're here representing Earth, and I will be damned if my planet is remembered forever in the Pegasus galaxy as a line-dancing planet." John opens his mouth to make another suggestion, but Rodney cuts him off: "Nor will it be remembered for you doing the robot."

"Fine," John grumbles. "What, then? Hula dancing?"

"No," Rodney says, mulishly, but doesn't suggest anything else. They stand in silence for a few long seconds, while Ronon and Teyla do some more ridiculous throws at ridiculous speeds.

"Um," John says eventually. "How about – can you waltz?"

Rodney turns to face him, surprised. "I can lead," he says carefully.

"Okay, that'll do. I, uh, know how to follow."

Rodney crosses his arms and smirks at him. "Really?"

"I have an older brother, he took a lot of girls to a lot of debutante balls, and we will never, ever, speak of this again," John growls warningly.

Rodney does that thing he does when he wants his smirk to look innocent. "Of course not, Colonel," he says, then wanders over to the band, presumably to explain 3/4 time to them. Ronon and Teyla have just finished, to tremendous applause, and are making their way out of the spotlight and back towards John.

"Did you and Doctor McKay decide on a dance to demonstrate?" Teyla asks sweetly.

"If I ever get you back to Earth," John says, "I'm taking you to Rocky Horror and painting a V on your forehead. Then we'll see who's laughing!"

Teyla shrugs. "I believe you are on my turf now, John."

Rodney comes back, and the band starts to play something that sounds almost like Strauss, if Strauss relied more heavily on the harmonica and the pan-flute.

And then it's totally surreal: Rodney holds out his hand, and John takes it, and they turn almost neatly into the centre of the pavilion.

"Start with a box step, maybe," Rodney half-whispers. Rodney's right hand is on John's waist, a light but firm touch, and his left is gripping John's hand gently, politely. John imagines him dancing with his sister this way, in the living room of the McKay home, practicing for the big dance at school.

They start to box-step, and it comes back to John: step, slide, his hand on Rodney's broad shoulder. It doesn't take long for them to warm up; Rodney exerts a little pressure on John's hand, on his waist, glances with his eyes, leading John into quicker sideways patterns. It's almost fun, the quick turns at the corners, the way their feet move together.

"You better not even think about dipping me," John warns him. Rodney laughs. The warm puff of air stirs against John's cheek.

And it's weird, because John's had his mouth on Rodney's dick and his dick in Rodney's ass; John's kissed Rodney and slept next to Rodney and been fucked by him; John's fallen asleep with his nose pressed into the nape of Rodney's neck and washed Rodney's back in the shower, but he never thought he'd be here, never thought they'd do this: step-glide, their hands on each other warm and polite, Rodney's broad palm slightly sweaty on his. John never thought they'd be here, dozens of half-drunk alien strangers watching them fondly as they shuffle their way across the dance floor while John's best friends in the world stand on the sidelines cheering, smiling their approval.

There are couples dancing all around them now, a crowd of waltzing, good-natured aliens doing their best not to step on each others' feet, and it's just about the best damn moment of John Sheppard's life.

"John?" Rodney says, looking concerned. "You still there?"

John nods. "Yeah, Rodney, I am." And his smile must find its way onto his face, because Rodney smiles back at him, the big lopsided grin, the rare one.

"It's nice that we got to, that we could – do this," Rodney stutters, ducking his head a bit.

John nods mutely and lets Rodney pull him into another quick turn.

It doesn't go on for too long; after a few minutes, the music stops, and the other dancers applaud generously. They hold position for a moment: hand in hand, hand on waist, hand on shoulder. There's still six inches of clear space between them when Rodney leans in, leans up, and presses a soft, dry kiss to John's cheek.

"Thanks for the dance," Rodney says politely.

"Yeah," John replies. He's gripping Rodney's hand in his own. "Thanks. Thank you."


End file.
